Not Long
by HedgieX
Summary: What if Ros didn't die when the bomb hit the hotel? What if she was instead rushed to hospital and woke up, surrounded by Section D as she breathed her last? Harry struggles to calm his outstanding officer whilst she wonders about Andrew and her father...


"Ros." Harry's voice roused her.

She forced her eyes open, and wished she hadn't. The room spun, a pool of sickening white walls and unmerciful lights. The smell of bleach choked her, the buss of the monitors bouncing around and around her head. But the pain…she just couldn't describe the pain.

"H…" she couldn't even manage his name.

He seemed to understand, though. A hand took hers; a slightly trembling hand. A salty tear that wasn't her own dribbled down her arm.

She moaned, trying to raise herself onto an elbow, but who was she kidding? She couldn't even lift her head a centimetre – she couldn't do anything but think of the pain. Rocketing up her spine, trickling through her veins. Everything was unimaginably agonising.

She was suddenly angry. So, so angry. How could she be so weak? How could she lie here and give in to her demons when Harry needed comforting? She felt her memory fluttering slowly back. Nightingale. Summit. Home Secretary.

"A…And…"

"Andrew?"

"Mm…"

Harry sighed, "He was dead by the time the team reached you. They tried to resuscitate him on the scene, but there was nothing they could do, Ros. I'm sorry."

A single droplet fell from her eye. Harry's fingers swept across her cheek; gentle, efficient, discreet. Things she'd always admired in him behind the strength and bravado. They were very alike, really, she and Harry. Not always quite the people they were presumed to be.

She thought back to the day of the bomb. She didn't know how long ago it had been, but she remembered certain sections – crystal clear flashes of her life. A conversation with Andrew – '_the more I look for approval, the more they seem to withhold it._' She'd told him to stop looking for approval, but he'd been right. She'd loved her dad; she couldn't have loved her dad more. She'd lived for his praise, and look where that had got her.

With Lucas; their joking about Barbados and Bolivia. She liked to think he'd cared for her – she'd cared for him. They had to – they were really all each other had sometimes_. _Harry. Ruth, and Tariq. Section D – her section. All the things they'd gone through together, all the things they'd come out from stronger and more united.

"Ros…"

She realised she was crying. Crying properly. Her eyes had focused slightly though, through the wall of tears, and she gazed into Harry's, soaking up the warmth. What she'd said to Russell Price, about death: _I'm not afraid of dying. My only regret is not being around to know what it's like._ Was it true? Had she meant it? She didn't know herself.

She'd wanted to die quickly. To fall down into a blanket of eternal sleep – to be oblivious to the chaos and pain around her. To be holding Andrew in the end. This bit wasn't right. This bit really did scare her – clinging on to life.

"How is she?" Lucas emerged, speaking to Harry softly. She tried to moan; tried to tell him she was okay. She didn't have the strength to move her lips.

Lucas sank down by her other side. A trickle of dried blood stained his face, a series of cuts and bruises standing out from his pale skin. Had he been in the hotel? "I'm sorry, Ros. I should never have left you. I tried to go back, but…"

She tried to portray through her eyes that all was forgiven. Life was too short for grudges, wasn't it? Ruth hovered in the doorway, and Tariq too, both pale and nervous.

Images of Andrew flashed before her eyes again. Had there been something between them? Had he flirted with everyone like that? His eyes had been so clear as he gazed into hers. So full of life. How old had he been? Too young to die.

To remember how they'd thought he was part of Nightingale sickened her. Yes, he had flaws (Cambridge, Twitter, 'on the blower'…) but he was just a politician. He'd only wanted to make the world a better place.

"Ros?" Harry's voice was far away.

"Ros, listen to me," Lucas's voice was tearful now too, "Listen to me – I've already lost Sarah. I can't lose you as well. You've got to hold on. Please."

She could feel her eyes flickering shut, her breathing slowing. There was so much she still wanted to tell them. That Harry had been the best boss she could ever have wished for, and also that he was now sacked and she was head of the section. Lucas; that she was sorry about his girlfriend, and that she was grateful for his trying to save her. Tariq – she didn't really hate his t-shirts. And Ruth…Ruth should really get together with Harry.

She wanted Andrew here. She wanted him to hold her; she'd been holding him when he'd gone, hadn't she? And she wanted her father. She wanted him to tell her he loved her; that he was proud of the woman she'd grown to be. But neither were going to come, were they? A dead man, and a jailed man. If either had cared in the first place, they definitely didn't now.

"Ros?" Ruth spoke now, "Ros, when they found the home secretary, he…he had a piece of paper in his pocket. And…and it was difficult to read…but he'd written your name and number on it."

"No doubt he broke every secrecy law in the book…" Lucas added, seeming by the tone of his voice to be smiling.

"But he liked you, Ros. I could see it. And you know I can be rather obtuse to these things, so if I noticed it…" Harry trailed off, wondering if they'd said the right things. Did it even matter what they said any more? Could she even hear them? They had to keep her awake.

Ros could hear them. She could hear the words, and she knew who was speaking; she knew those voices. But she struggled to understand the meaning – it was as if she was outside of herself, listening in to a conversation in a different language.

_You see that light? That is what we are aiming for, okay? Just keep heading towards the light._ She cried more as she recalled her words. She wondered at what point she'd realised it was all over. She wondered why she hadn't just run and left him; she could've lived. But no, she'd had to stay. She couldn't watch from the sidelines as another innocent man died – it was her duty to be there in the end. And more than a duty, too. _I'm not leaving him. So just go._

"Ros, we might not exactly be the people you'd love to have with you at the moment, but you need us, don't you? And, more to the point, we need you," Lucas spoke softly, squeezing her hand, "Remember what you once told me? _Lovers leave, friends annoy you, family mess with your head…_"

He wanted her to finish the sentence. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. With all the strength she could drag up, she focused on one thing – squeezing his hand back. Maybe he'd understand everything she needed to say. Maybe he'd know. Her fingers closed around his; clenched for a few seconds before she could no longer control her muscles.

He felt that insignificant movement, "_But colleagues are okay."_

Ros's heart gave the tiniest flutter. Yeah. Colleagues were okay.

_How long now, Ros?_

_ Not long. _

And then it was over.

XxXxX

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